


Inside Out

by lilacsigil



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Mind Control, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: The voice inside Charles's head will stop at nothing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MilitaryPenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilitaryPenguin/gifts).



It took several weeks for Charles to realise that the strange creaking noise he heard in the back of his mind at night was actually a voice crooning his name.

"Charles," it crackled and crooned, over and over. "Charles, Charles…"

When he woke up, though, it was always gone and he thought no more of it. His powers – like those of everyone else who had been in contact with Apocalypse – were fluctuating to some extent and besides, he was busy rebuilding the school and helping Jean with the powers she had unlocked herself. The way his range got shorter and his shields weaker at night was simply a consequence of the battle, he was sure of it. Like Erik's abilities orienting strongly to a north-south line unless he concentrated hard, it would all settle down in time. But the next night, the voice came again.

"Charles, listen."

Charles could feel his whole body, right down to his toes, so he was sure this was a dream. It wasn't the same as the phantom limb sensations he occasionally suffered, and definitely not like the nerve pain that had plagued him for the year after the injury. He wriggled his toes, pleased by what Morpheus had brought him tonight, but let it go with a sigh. It would be too disappointing in the morning when he had to drag his heavy legs out from the covers: Charles tried to be a role model to the students, especially the ones who were disabled by or in addition to their mutant powers, but in his own bed at least he allowed himself to be tired and annoyed or, this time, briefly elated at the strange things his brain had cooked up. That dream lingered with him all day, annoyingly, but it was gone again by the time he went to bed with a pile of the 12-year-olds' homework to grade. Another night, and the voice was there again.

"Charles, Charles, feel."

His whole body tingled again, and, to his surprise, he could feel that he had an erection. That didn't usually happen these days without a great deal of patience and attention, but here it was, as easily as when he was a teenager. He slid a hand downwards under the waistband of his pyjamas, taking advantage of the opportunity and letting the easy arousal curl through his body in anticipation. As he took hold of himself, he had an intense flash of horror at the sudden feel of unfamiliar callouses: it wasn't his hand. It wasn't his hand! 

He reached out for the light switch, trying to shake off the dream, because surely he was awake now. The light clicked on, and he saw the blue-grey colouring running from his fingertips up into his wrist. Apocalypse's hand. It faded back as quickly as it appeared, but Charles still grabbed his wrist with his other hand, terrified as to what he might do next.

"Now we are one, Charles. Let me help you." The deep voice was perfectly clear now, inside his head, and he could feel his body responding to it. He glanced around quickly but he couldn't tell: was he in the mental construction of his home that he had used to fight Apocalypse, or was he truly at home? Then his eyes fell on the ripped wallpaper which they had not yet managed to replace and he knew it was all entirely real.

"Don't call out, Charles. No-one can hear you, not even your little firebird." 

"Get out of my head!" He tried to call Jean anyway, but Apocalypse was aware of that trick now, and had shut down something deep inside his brain, so he could feel his thoughts ricocheting inside, but not projecting. Hank would be fascinated, Charles thought hysterically, as if he was going to get to see Hank again and tell him about this. 

"There you are, Charles. Be calm. We are one."

In the moments he had been distracted by trying to contact Jean, Charles' body had lurched out of his control again, his hand sliding back onto his cock and his other hand rigidly gripping the bedside table, pathetic inches away from the telephone and help. 

"Don't touch me! This body is not yours!" Charles tried to pull his hand away, or roll to the side, but he was helpless, and now he realised what Apocalypse was doing: if a moment of inattention was enough for Apocalypse to control his body, the moment of an orgasm would be more than enough for Apocalypse to take his mind. He tried to resist, thinking of the worst moments of his life – his mother's death, Erik and Raven turning away on that beach – but his body was determined to respond and Charles was helpless to resist the pleasure gathering inside him. 

He tried again: nerve pain this time, excruciating bolts of electrical signals gone wrong, the brutal work of rehabilitation, a bullet in the spine, and that seemed a little more effective, giving him a moment to hurl himself bodily from the bed, landing with a thump on the currently uncarpeted floor. 

"Please hear me," he tried to call out, but his throat locked.

"Shhh, Charles," rasped that inexorable voice, now running through his nerves and flickering pleasure along his spine and into his brain, no longer needing the crude physical stimulation to undo him. "Shh, and be mine."

As his body convulsed and his mind fell open, he felt Apocalypse settle inside him, as if Charles was nothing more than the skin of an animal, now filled again with someone else's warmth and life. Charles desperately pushed back against Apocalypse, but all he managed was to preserve a kernel of himself, to watch the world through his own eyes without control. 

Apocalypse looked down at his new body. "Messy," he said, and tried to climb to his feet. Whatever power he was using to animate Charles's nerves was obviously not enough to restore wasted muscles, though, and he immediately fell. Charles felt his face frown, and Apocalypse tried again to stand, then to at least get off the floor. He managed to move one leg slightly, and grab the bed coverlet, which promptly slid off the bed to cover him. 

Charles laughed. "Not so easy, is it? You wanted this body, now you've got it."

"I want what I saw in the palace of your mind!" Apocalypse snarled.

"That's the only place that man exists, anymore." Charles reached out and grabbed hold of the bed frame. "I know how to do this. Do you?"

Apocalypse wrenched Charles's shoulder trying to pull his body up, but the angle was completely wrong and he slumped back to the floor, panting. Charles focused, remembering how it had felt for Apocalypse to spread through him, taking over his body by setting his nerves alight with orgasm. Charles knew how to get off the floor: he had practised it thousands upon thousands of times. He stopped thinking and simply felt. He ignored the false comfort of the bed and went for his chair instead. Check the brakes. Flip into sitting position. Wriggle perpendicular to chair. Close leg propped. Far leg propped. Left hand grab, right hand back. Heave and pivot and done. And Charles was back in his own body again. 

"Jean!" he shouted as loud as he could, locking down his power, where he could still feel Apocalypse. A moment later she was there, in full flight, her psychic fire searing the remnants of Apocalypse from his mind. 

Charles woke again, and it was morning. Judging by the hunger in his stomach and the stubble on his chin, it wasn't the next morning. He couldn't feel his legs and – after a quick but very thorough check – nor could he feel any trace of Apocalypse. Hank was snoozing in an armchair next to the bed, contorted into a position that would have been hideously uncomfortable for anyone else. 

"Hank?" he said, quietly. 

"Ah! Charles! You startled me! Jean told us what was going on, but I think she was a little forceful in evicting your tenant, because you've had a raging fever for two days." He smiled and patted Charles's hand. "Next time you think you hear strange voices, tell someone! We're all here for you."

Charles smiled ruefully. "Yes, Hank. I know. And I'm here for all of you." Fully here, he vowed to himself, in both mind and body.


End file.
